


Close Distance Focusing

by aphelion_orion



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Friendship, Gen, fashion-motivated crossdressing, slice-of-life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 07:46:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4427129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphelion_orion/pseuds/aphelion_orion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's about fashion, and friendship, and texting habits. And maybe also about befuddled Kuroko in ruffles. But mostly about the other three.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close Distance Focusing

Kagami regrets exchanging numbers with Kise within the hour.

It’s not that Kise is an unpleasant guy, at least once he stops doing shit like calling dibs on Kagami’s teammate, but there should really be a limit on how much a person can talk. Kagami’s never had much reason to check his phone before – in the States, only three people ever texted him with any regularity, and one of them was his dad – and here in Japan it’s just the occasional Friday evening text from Kuroko, confirming their plans for the weekend.

Put that way, it seems kind of pathetic, actually, but then again, he never really was a phone kind of guy anyway: He likes to see who he’s talking to, and one hundred and twenty characters or less pretty much ensure that nothing of substance gets brought up.

Well, at least he used to think so, until Kuroko. Kuroko, who never says anything that isn’t necessary, whose messages are unambiguous and to the point and still manage to sound exactly like he talks (sharp, witty, interesting).

Kise’s messages are pretty much reminders of why he doesn’t do texts: flowery, wordy, so full of omg’s and kk’s and wwww’s (seriously, what the hell?), and drenched in emoticons no sane person could conceivably have any use for. (Kagami spent half an hour googling those on the off-chance that one of them means something like “BASKETBALL EMERGENCY” and now has to live with the knowledge that it’s half an hour he will never get back.)

It kind of freaked him out at first when he turned on his phone for the customary end-of-day check and it started buzzing like a live wire, spilling forth at least twenty messages ranging from mildly useful to completely demented.

Addresses of sports stores Kise likes to shop at (somewhat useful, because most of the stores Kagami has been to in Japan seem stop selling clothes at size “how-the-fuck-do-I-fit-in-this”), pictures of trendy places or cafés (though he could do without the _they do amazing custom-order milkshakes, you know_ because really). An app for finding street courts and sports centers in the immediate area, which, man, he would have liked to know of that one in L.A.

The rest of the texts cluttering up his inbox, though, are nothing but the verbalizations of Kise’s minuscule attention span, ranging from how bored Kise was during math today ( _seriously soooooo booooored Kagamicchi send help_ ), what he ate for lunch ( _do they sell strawberry cream bread at Seirin??? tell them they should, it’s super-delish!!!_ ), or how mean his captain was at practice (it admittedly took Kagami some time to figure out who “grouchy-ass senpai” was supposed to be, if only because he imagines disgruntled to be kind of the default state around someone so aggressively cheery).

Photos of stray cats Kise passed by on his way to school. Links to songs that the-guy-formerly-known-as-grouchy-ass-senpai recced him. An idiotic click-bait creature-hatching game (Kise’s trying to grow a kitsune, and Kagami would assume that’s a weirdly self-aware choice for him except the fox character is clearly the best-drawn animal of the bunch, which more likely than not factored into Kise’s pick).

He wonders if it’s a model thing, or maybe a brain-damage thing, like Kise took too many whacks to the head and forgot they only just met a couple of weeks ago.

“It’s just a Kise-kun thing,” Kuroko says, showing Kagami his own overflowing inbox, which consists of at least sixty percent more glompy-flaily kaomoji. “From the looks of it, he is holding back since he doesn’t know you that well yet.”

Kagami feels very proud of himself for not inhaling his sandwich at the idea. “…huh.”

“The good thing is, Kise-kun doesn’t actually expect a response most of the time,” Kuroko says, bird-pecking his way through his own lunch and seemingly oblivious to the sudden blush trying to creep up Kagami’s neck.

He’ll probably never get used to how Kuroko just seems to get him, casually bringing up stuff Kagami himself has barely thought out yet. Truth is, he was getting a little uneasy, unsure what to say in response to the unbroken torrent of sociability from Kaijou’s small forward, and while he hasn’t really made up his mind about Kise yet, he doesn’t actively want to offend him, either.

“This is simply his idea of being communicative.” Kuroko’s mouth quirks upward just the tiniest bit, his smile equal parts amusement and exasperation. “Trust me, Kagami-kun. You will know when it’s actually important.”

* * *

Kagami finds out what “actually important” looks like way sooner than he would have thought, and much earlier than he would have liked.

Which is five-thirty a.m. on a Saturday.

Groaning, Kagami rolls over to feel around for his phone on the nightstand, the alarm set to seven so he can squeeze in a run through the neighborhood before the early June heat starts setting in. Still, some hours are too early in the morning, even for him.

Anyway, Kagami isn’t sure what to expect after a message like, “!!!!!***ヾ(ﾟдﾟ)ﾉﾞヾ(ﾟдﾟ)ﾉﾞSUPERIMPORTANT PLZ READ LIFE-OR-DEATH EMERGENCYヾ(ﾟдﾟ)ﾉﾞヾ(ﾟдﾟ)ﾉﾞ***!!!”, especially when there’s no info on the emergency whatsoever.

What he definitely doesn’t expect, though, is Kise to answer the phone with a delighted laugh.

“Kagamicchi!”

Five-thirty a.m. doesn’t leave him with the presence of mind to protest the ridiculous mangling of his name. Still squinting sleep out of his eyes, Kagami pushes himself up on his elbows.

“Kise, what the hell? I thought you were dying?!”

Five-thirty a.m. also leaves most of his manners in offline mode, but Kise doesn’t seem to mind, because Kagami can practically hear him sparkling through the phone. “Eh? Were you worried, Kagamicchi?”

“I’m hanging up,” Kagami says, because seriously, what the hell. Maybe he was actually a teensy bit worried, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be breakfast entertainment for a hyperactive attention seeker who is his freaking rival on the court, thank you very much.

“Nononono!” There’s the sound of things being shoved in a bag and zippers being yanked closed. “It’s not me, but someone is definitely dying!”

“…What?!”

“Well, more like going to. Maybe. Kinda. Metaphorically.” Kise clears his throat. “So, not really.”

Kagami clamps down on the cranky little sleep demons that demand he tell Kise he’ll metaphorically feed him a basketball next time they see each other because what the hell, who jokes about dying, and sighs.

“So what gives?”

“Eeeh? You’ll hear me out, Kagamicchi?”

Either Kise is a damn good actor, or the surprise in his voice is real, in which case… that’s kind of sad.

“What the hell,” Kagami says again, more to himself than anyone else. “Alright, shoot.”

“Oh. Um. Well,” and his voice drops a little, some of the excessive cheer vanishing for something more genuine, “a friend of mine’s in trouble. Actually, she’s more like my big sister’s friend than mine, but I know her and her teacher’s been running her ragged and she’s super-talented so it’s really not fair and– you don’t care about any of that. Right. Uh. The point.”

Kagami frowns. “Oi, just so you know, I’m totally the wrong person to ask about tutoring–”

“Eh? Oh. No no, it’s nothing like that, don’t worry,” Kise laughs, and maybe he should feel offended at that, but, again, too early. “She’s got to do this portfolio photoshoot for a fashion project that’s worth, like, seventy percent of her grade, but now her teacher’s gone and changed the deadline on her. She’s scrambling to get everything done, but it’s pretty impossible all by herself so she’ll need some help hauling equipment and stuff around, and I might’ve kinda said I knew some people who could do that. Yeah.”

“So you volunteered…” Me? Us? Whoever “us” would be. Kagami isn’t sure, but it’s weird to be on Kise’s list for things like this, either way. Someone as social as that guy should have his pickings of people for any given activity, but maybe not.

“She’s really freaking out over it,” Kise is saying. “I already called up Kasamatsu-senpai but he told me to dunk myself in a basketball hoop and die, how mean is that!”

Blinking, Kagami tries to imagine calling Coach Riko or Hyuuga-senpai at five-thirty on a weekend for anything that isn’t a national catastrophe, and shudders. Clearly, Kise’s emergency responder list is much more pathetic than his own if he’s willing to risk his captain’s rather justifiable wrath.

On the phone, Kise is still rambling away.

“–and Kurokocchi said he’d help out, but–” and here, Kise’s voice drops to a whisper as if he’s worried Kuroko will hear and pop up to jab him in the ribs, “–you know about the state of his guns so we really need someone, erm, extra? I promise I’ll make it up to you, Kagamicchi! Cross my heart! So, pretty please…?”

He likes to think it’s Kise’s drawn-out, nasally whine of “pretty please” that makes him cave, because there’s nothing scarier than the thought of the mental image of a golden retriever following him around all day. It definitely isn’t the thought of Kuroko, bird-boned and stubborn, lugging around heavy boxes with his pretend guns in the summer heat, all while fending off Kise’s touchy-feely enthusiasm.

He cracks his neck, rolls his shoulders. “Okay, I get it. When and where?”

* * *

“Ah, Kagami-kun, you came.”

It’s past eight by the time he catches sight of the designated meeting spot, three vans parked haphazardly at an entrance to Shinjuku Gyoen. The early morning coolness is starting to capitulate in the face of the sun, which is doing funny things to Kuroko’s untamable hair, making parts of it droop and other parts stick up and frizz.

His movements are still a bit slow as he steps out of the shade of a nearby tree, a certain trudge to his step, though his eyes are clear. There’s a spark in them when he bobs his head in greeting, like he’s glad they’re in this together, and that’s still new enough to be doing funny things to Kagami’s insides.

It’s taken some getting used to, to think that a teammate would be happy to see him. Same as with the spontaneous telepathy, he’ll probably never get used to the idea that _Kuroko_ is happy to see him.

Scratching the back of his head, Kagami looks off into the middle distance where the vans are being unloaded, trolleys being pulled up to their back doors. “Kise ambushed you too, huh?”

“I apologize.”

“Huh?”

“I’m afraid my attempt at hedging backfired. I told Kise-kun I would come if you came, but it seems I’ve underestimated your kindness, Kagami-kun.”

Spoken with a completely straight face, as if there’s nothing even slightly embarrassing about saying something like that, while Kagami is the only one left sputtering.

“I– you– what– stop _saying_ shit like that, idiot.”

From the way the spark is dancing in Kuroko’s eyes, he’s definitely being laughed at.

“Kurokocchi!”

All things considered, he’s rather grateful for the interruption, even if it involves Kuroko almost getting bowled over in a bear hug.

“Thanks so much for coming, you’re a lifesaver! I definitely owe you!”

“Oi, what am I, chopped liver?” Kagami growls, crossing his arms when it’s starting to look like a repeat of the practice match, where it took breaking a hoop (however accidentally) to derail Kise’s laser-guided focus on his partner.

Squashed into Kise’s shoulder, Kuroko is squirming weakly. “I can’t breathe, Kise-kun.”

“Eh? Oh! Whoops, sorry about that!” Kise doesn’t sound very sorry at all, but he eases up on the full-body cling. “I forget that you're–”

Faster than either of them can blink, Kuroko vanishes out of his arms and reappears by Kagami’s side, a little closer than before, like he definitely isn’t above side-stepping and letting Kagami take the brunt of the next attack.

“You forget that I’m what?” Kuroko asks, ignoring Kagami’s start and Kise’s exaggerated pout.

“Ehehe. It’s nothing.”

Kagami gets the feeling that whatever Kise was about to blurt out has to do with the fact that Kuroko’s neck is where most guys’ torsos would be, because he sure as hell was thinking it watching Kuroko get practically smothered, and he’s not sure how he feels about sharing thought-space with Kise.

“Anyway, so glad you guys are here! Maybe we’ll be able to do this after all. Now we just need–”

“Ryou-chan, do you know where I can get some HD foundation around these parts?” a female voice comes floating over from the general vicinity of the cars, and Kagami has the distinct pleasure of watching Kise twitch and blush.

“…Ryou-chan?” he repeats, snickering.

“Shut up, Kagamicchi. She’ll have you by the end of the day, too, just you wait.”

Before Kagami can ask what he means by that, a young woman comes walking up to them at a brisk pace, high heels and all, and even with the mass of perfectly coiffed blond curls and the fashionably layered ruffles of a summer dress, the resemblance is kind of uncanny.

Up close, she’s almost as tall as Kise, too.

“Mari-chan left the make-up kit in the trunk while location-scouting yesterday and now it’s all melted. I’ve got us covered for the most part, but I didn’t think to pack my HD line. Ugh, I swear that girl’s organizational talent is her own worst enemy– oh.”

She stops short, as if only just now realizing that Kise’s not alone, her eyes going round for a split second before her face blossoms in a dazzling smile. “Oh my, so sorry. I didn’t realize you were here already! Ryou-chan, you should’ve said something. Anyway. Hi.”

“Um,” Kagami says, because he still feels like he got knocked over the head by a shower of sparkles.

Kise 1.0 continues, oblivious to Kise 2.0’s burning ears. “The name’s Miyo, age 21, Libra, model and impromptu part-time make-up artist. I know you can barely see it, but this guy’s actually my baby brother, so… thanks for taking care of him!”

“Um. Kagami… Taiga,” he says slowly, automatically sticking his hand out for a shake before he can remember to keep his manners Japanese.

The sparkles return full blast, as Miyo clasps his hand without pause, manicured nails pressing into his palm in a surprisingly strong grip. “Nice to meet you, Tai-chan.”

Kagami chokes on his breath, glaring when Kise smirks at him in vindication, but before he can object to this impossibly worse mangling of his name, Kuroko dips forward in a polite bow.

“Kuroko Tetsuya. It’s nice to meet you, Kise-san.”

If Kagami ever wanted to know what Kise’s face would look like going “eeek”, well, now he knows.

“Ohmigosh! Wh-where did you come from?”

“My apologies, Kise-san. I’ve been here from the start,” Kuroko says, and Kagami has to resist the urge to grin because it’s been a while since he got to hear that line. Which… really shouldn’t be making him smile, since having the bejeezus scared out of you shouldn’t be anyone’s idea of a good time.

Miyo’s glossy lips purse into a frown. “Oh, please. That makes me sound like mom. Just Miyo-chan’s fine, we’re practically the same age anyway!”

“And here she was lording her seniority over me just this morning,” Kise informs them with an air of conspiracy, and neatly sidesteps the elbow to his gut. “So mean, sis.”

“Miyo-san, then,” Kuroko agrees, probably to keep the confusion to a minimum since he isn’t even on a first-name basis with his self-proclaimed girlfriend.

Miyo’s face falls for a moment, before she waves it off. “Ah well, I’ll just go with Tet-chan, then, that should even it out.”

Behind her, Kise is mouthing “so sorry, Kurokocchi,” looking genuinely apologetic for once. Kuroko’s face is a study in serene acceptance.

“Anyway, sorry to cut this short,” Miyo breezes on, pushing her hair back over her shoulder and turning to go. “But I really have to do something about that make-up we’re missing. We should probably get started before Mari-chan has a nervous breakdown or something. It’s been hard enough keeping her away from the collection, otherwise she’d start snipping away at it again.”

And then, the trademark Kise blitheness in her voice dims a little, revealing something closer to real concern. “You know, she really has been beside herself all morning. Sports guys are good at pep talks, right? If you could maybe… I dunno. Just tell her something nice, sometimes a stranger’s opinion is worth ten times more than a friend’s.”

“Um,” Kagami says again, glancing searchingly at Kuroko because the only thing _he_ has been known to do for upset girls is to make them even more upset. Apparently though, the elder Kise doesn’t expect a response to her ideas any more than the younger Kise does because she is already stalking off, heels clicking sharply on the pavement.

In the ensuing silence, Kise lets out a long, whistling breath, before giving Kuroko a meaningful look. “And you guys didn’t believe me when I said I was the toned-down edition in my family.”

Kuroko nods. “I thought it was amazing how she barely paused for breath. At least I can count on Kise-kun to run out of air eventually.”

“That’s ri– hey. So mean, Kurokocchi!” It’s also kind of amazing, Kagami thinks, to see someone producing crocodile tears in the literal blink of an eye. “I don’t think I like you anymore!”

“I’m deeply saddened to hear this, Kise-kun.”

Another blink, and the crocodile tears are history again. “Don’t be sad, Kurokocchi! I lied. You’ll always be my favorite!”

“You shouldn’t joke about things like this, Kise-kun,” Kuroko says, still in the same, deadpan tone, but Kagami’s pretty sure he hasn’t imagined the oddly soft note in there.

From the looks of it, Kise has heard it too, because he falters, biting his lip. “Ah, well. Um. We should probably go find Mari-chan and give her some moral support.” He perks up, smile bright once more and startlingly sincere. “After all, moral support is what Kurokocchi does best.”

“That’s really quite rude, Kise-kun,” Kuroko says, likewise back to his ribbing.

“Whaaaat? I meant that in a nice way! You’re all cute and fluffy and I always feel better when you’re around, you know!”

“So rude. I am not.”

“Are too. Right, Kagamicchi? You know what I’m talking about. Right?”

And Kagami has had Kuroko’s fingers stuck in his ribs and his hands around his ankles and his knees jammed in the back of his calves often enough that he can answer with complete confidence, “No fucking clue.”

(Even though, really, he kind of does.)

* * *

Mari, it turns out, is short, bespectacled, and crackling with nervous energy, dancing around a rack of clothes in the back of one van with a measuring tape lashing around like a whip. She’s muttering to herself, too, a litany of, “Oh no oh no oh no, should’ve gone with chiffon there, what was I thinking, this needs to be lighter, summery, not– not this– ooooh, I really could kick myself!”

Kagami doesn’t pay the slightest bit of attention to fashion (“can I wear it to the street court?” is not a design standard by any stretch), and isn’t sure what he would have imagined a fashion designer to be like if he ever thought about such things, but he’s pretty sure Mari Ishikawa, as Kise introduces her, is the polar opposite of it.

Everything about her looks so plain and unassuming, it’s hard to imagine her as anything other than a wardrobe assistant. At least, that’s his impression until she realizes she’s being spoken to and suddenly, there’s the measuring tape creeping up Kagami’s arm, down his leg, around his midsection, and – with some difficulty – across his shoulders, before he can even process what’s happening.

“You’re very tall,” Mari says, nodding to herself. “I mean in a good way. Too bad I designed this set entirely around Ryouta-kun’s measurements, or this could be interesting. You shouldn’t be wearing so much black, by the way, it’s oppressive and boring and doesn’t do anything for your eyes! Better go with some greens… there’s a couple of nice complimentary shades there… or maybe some orange tones. Ryouta-kun, what do you think?”

Kise ignores his plaintive staring, like assaulting strangers with a measuring tape is just a thing that tends to happen around these parts, and sighs dramatically. “I’ve been trying to affect a wardrobe change for weeks, to little avail.”

Gritting his teeth, Kagami tries to will away the sudden rush of heat to his cheeks. “Oi, don’t talk about me like I’m not here!”

Mari seems more interested in going for a second assessment of his waistline than acknowledging the protest. Maybe it shouldn’t surprise him that most of Kise’s acquaintances are either annoying, insane, or both, and capable of talking incessantly.

“Maybe some earth tones. Not red, though, redheads wearing red tends to end in disaster, and it’d detract from– _Oh_!”

And she’s gone again, ducking past him to latch onto Kuroko, who does an actual deer-in-the-headlights impression at being spotted so unceremoniously.

“Where have you _been_ all my life?!” Mari squeals, a manic gleam shining in her eyes as her tape zigzags all over his bewildered shadow. “Oh, I’ve always wanted to design for a spring-type guy, but they’re so hard to find here, you have _no_ idea – nice choice on the colors, by the way. The stripes are a little eeeeh but it kind of works on you, no idea how. You’d look amazing in something darker, too, though – maybe dark blue? Deep violet? Something like that.”

She’s gotten a hold of his hand, turning it back and forth and prodding at it with her fingers. “Ahhh, so white! You’ve got such pretty skin, I’m sure if I found the right tones I could just get you to _glow_ ––”

By now, Kuroko is looking positively cornered, and dammit, didn’t he agree to this outing specifically so he could keep Kuroko from getting kidnapped and glomped to death by crazy people? Well, no, not _specifically_ , he mostly agreed because he didn’t want to have dogs haunting his imagination for the rest of the day, but Kuroko getting crushed or squished is kind of a background concern on most days, anyway, both on and off the court.

Kagami’s gotten used to acting as a buffer of sorts in busy places and stopping people from accidentally sitting on him on the crowded train, and while it annoys him when the lil’ shit pulls stunts like using him as a shade or a windshield, it’s kind of nice that Kuroko’s started reading next to him, like he trusts Kagami to guard his personal space while he immerses himself in a book.

So he makes a long arm, grabbing Kuroko by the shoulder and reeling him out of reach of the grabby nutjob designer. “We’re just here because this guy–” He jerks his thumb at Kise, who seems disappointed to see the spontaneous Kuroko-makeover aborted, “–said this was about life and death. Or boxes. Whatever.”

“Oh, right!” Mari is squinting as if coming out of a trance. “Man, sorry. You’re probably all weirded out now, huh. I swear I didn’t do it on purpose. I just… can’t turn it off, I’m not even kidding. I see someone and boom, I just get all these ideas on how to dress them. No offense.”

“None taken, Ishikawa-san,” Kuroko says, though he doesn’t seem inclined to move from his spot against Kagami’s side, which… well, it’s perfectly rational, considering he narrowly avoided getting roped into a round of dress-me-up, but still. It’s kind of nice to be part of someone’s personal bubble like this.

“Please, call me Mari,” she corrects, “and phew, that’s a relief. I’d really die if you ran away because I freaked you out or something. No joke. My head’s on the chopping block if I don’t get this shot done and the portfolio off to Mr. Haseo by Monday. Last time I’m taking a course with him, I swear. I couldn’t even get the hand-stitching done that I wanted to do. Just look at this!”

She darts over to the clothing rack, pulling out what looks, to Kagami’s untrained eye, like a perfectly acceptable vest. Not his style, with the metallic thread winding up the sides to loop around the shoulders in a fake zipper pattern, but it looks good, regardless.

Mari apparently doesn’t agree, though, because she thrusts the piece at Kise, now back to her nervous fluttering. “I had to draw it on, Ryouta-kun! Draw. it. on. Who does that?! I do! I _did_! I’ll be dead if sensei finds out! And even if he doesn’t, I’ll be making _you_ model pieces _with the stitching drawn on_. Oh, you’ll hate me for sure!”

Kagami exchanges a glance with Kuroko, happy to see his own assessment reflected in the set of Kuroko’s eyebrows. Some level of insanity is clearly a requirement for working in fashion.

Kise, meanwhile, is floundering with the vest waving around under his nose, trying to keep the actual zippers from going up his nostrils. “Um. I don’t hate you, Mari-chan. In fact, if Sis hasn’t crucified you yet, you’ll be–”

“Oh, but you _must_! I hate myself! It’s all ruined! Stupid old Haseo! Stupid stitches! Stupid everything! Maybe we should just forget about doing this altogether and go home!”

“Pardon me, Mari-san,” Kuroko interrupts, and it’s pretty weird how she hears him on the first try, too. “But I believe abandoning the shoot would not only do a disservice to your own efforts. It would also devalue the efforts of all the people who have helped you thus far. Right now, Miyo-san is doing her best to replace your missing utensils, and someone clearly helped you drive the vans here. I am convinced Kise-kun will do his best to do your collection justice, and Kagami-kun and I will be helping out, too. If you give up because of a fault only you can see, then all of us will have come together in vain.”

“Um,” is the only response out of Mari’s mouth. She’s staring at Kuroko with eyes as round as her glasses, tirade forgotten, and even with such a corny lead-in, it’s pretty amazing what that quiet-voiced conviction can do. Even Kagami’s feeling more pumped about spending his Saturday like this now, and he wasn’t the one having confidence issues.

“Aww, Kurokocchi!” Kise is dabbing at his eyes. “That was beautiful! I could just about cry.”

“That seems excessive, Kise-kun. Please don’t.”

“Boo, so mean.”

“Um,” Mari says again. She has taken off her glasses, rubbing them clean with her sleeves before pushing them back up her nose. “You know what, you’re right, Kurokocchi-kun.”

Kagami snorts.

“I’ve got to do this. For the future of fashion! …and my grade. Okay, mostly my grade. But the future of fashion, too.” She straightens up, imperiously draping the measuring tape around her neck. “Ready or not, let’s get this show on the road!”

She skips down the ramp, her dramatic flair evaporating when she can’t decide where to start for a moment, before Kise shrugs and joins her, gesturing and asking questions.

“The future of fashion, huh,” Kagami says. “Well, as long as we don’t end up wearing our pants on our heads…”

“Indeed. By the way, Kagami-kun?” Kuroko says, tilting his head back to look up at him. “You can let go now.”

“…huh? Ack!”

“I don’t particularly mind,” Kuroko nods at where Kagami’s hand has been resting on his shoulder, “but unpacking like this would be rather impractical unless you let me move, don’t you think?”

Flushing scarlet, Kagami does just that.

* * *

By some minor miracle, they do indeed get the show on the road.

Between Kagami and Mari’s boyfriend, a tall, tanned guy with an easy-going air who helps with the electronics, the lights and screens get unpacked, moved into position, repacked and dragged to the next location with little to no fanfare. Kagami won’t claim to know what makes this tree different from that other tree, or a bike rack better than a park bench, but he dutifully sets the cables and generator into place, and doesn’t ask.

Kuroko has been turned into a production assistant of sorts, charged with fetching clothes and accessories on Mari’s command and keeping order among the expensive camera parts (“I’m entrusting these to you, Kurokocchi-kun, please protect them from _any clumsy oafs looking to plonk their butts down_!”, which prompted the boyfriend to moan that it was _just once and it was an accident, who leaves their borrowed camera lying around on the sofa anyway, huh?_ ).  

By the time they break for lunch, Kagami has acquired an ache in his forearms from all the lifting, more Kise-family related trivia than he can throw a basketball at, and a newfound, if somewhat begrudging, respect for Kise himself.

Turns out those five seconds of standing there and looking pretty are preceded by endless fussing with hair and skin and eyes – flat irons, curling irons, gel, wax, spray, pencils, powder puffs, brushes and what looks like a freaking pair of scissors for eyelashes _what the fuck_ – and through it all, Kise only has the occasional complaint about a color choice.

Nerves of steel, clearly.

If anyone came at _his_ eyes with scissors, Kagami wouldn’t take it sitting down.

Not that he isn’t feeling some threat to the integrity of his own face. The elder Kise has taken to regarding his eyebrows with a speculative glint whenever she’s not preening her brother for the next set of pictures, to the point where Kagami is starting to develop a twitch when she turns to him without putting away the tweezers, first.

Kise’s whole, “Don’t worry, Kagamicchi, my sisters have been doing this for longer than I’ve been alive, Miyo knows what she’s doing,” isn’t helping at all, not least because yeah, apparently that was a plural, and _oh god, you mean there’s more of you?!_

It’s not all bad, though, he thinks, because when Miyo isn’t fussing with some part of Kise’s appearance or getting into semi-serious arguments with him about the next Dolce&Gabbana line-up, she’s full of questions about America, even though he can answer only half of them because he never paid any attention to hotspots or trends.

Turns out Miyo is nearly fluent in English – “Nowhere near as good as Ayu-neechan, she’s the one who gets all that extra practice from doing shoots abroad, so tell me if I mess up, okay?” – and absolutely delighted to have a human practice dummy. And perhaps Kagami has been missing the language more than he thought, because after months of hearing it getting mangled in classroom settings, it’s kind of refreshing to be having an actual conversation again.

Or maybe it’s the fact that she’s just as freakishly competitive as her brother, trying to one-up him at “Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.”

_“Peter Piper pecked a pick of prickled– erp. Ow. Aw, I almost had it! Tai-chan, one more time!”_

_“Pfff, what? That wasn’t even close!”_ Kagami scoffs without any heat, rubbing the ache from his arms and casting his eyes about for Kuroko, who left to organize something to drink a while ago.

 _“Ehh, what wasn’t close? I wanna play, too!”_ Kise chimes in, his accent more pronounced but a lot better than most of the English Kagami’s been subjected to on this side of the pond.

Huh, who would’ve thought.

He sprawls in the make-up chair, tilting his head over the backrest, the slew of belts, zippers and bracelets that make up this particular outfit jangling and clinking loudly. Kagami can’t imagine ever wearing something that won’t even let him sit down quietly, but what does he know.

“Ryou-chan, careful, or I’ll have to redo your fringe,” Miyo says, nudging at her brother to get him to sit straight.

“No worries, Mari-chan said we’re done with this look, anyway.”

“…I thought she wanted to use it for the afternoon shoot, too,” Miyo says, brow furrowing as she checks her watch. “As a counterpoint to the girls’ line.”

“Girls’ line?” Kagami asks. “I thought she was doing guys’ fashion.”

“That was the plan,” Kise says, tipping the chair on its hind legs. “But Mari-chan’s teacher wanted more versatility or something.”

“Versatility, yeah, right,” Miyo snorts, flicking her hand dismissively. “The old fart’s just more interested in pictures of cute young girls.”

“That's…” Kagami falters, because he’s not sure what the Japanese reaction would be here.

Back in the States, Alex would smile sweetly whenever a reporter guy wanted to take pictures of “something a little more exciting,” and, in just as sweet a voice, she would ask him if he was sure he didn’t mind a childless future, because a basketball court can be a pretty dangerous place. Lots of stray shots, and all that. Most of them got the hint from that, and those that didn't… well.

“…an unfortunate reality of the business,” Miyo finishes, her disdain quickly melting into a mischievous smile. “He’ll be in for a surprise, though. Mari-chan went full-on _mori kei_ for the girls’ line.”

Kagami hasn’t got the faintest idea what that is supposed to be, but before he can ask, he becomes aware of the slight change in the air current, the only warning of Kuroko’s return.

“Ah. Then you will be joining the shoot, Miyo-san?”

Kagami is pretty proud of himself for staying seated while Kise leaps half a foot in the air, echoing his sister’s startled squeak.

“K-Kurokocchi! I didn’t realize you were there!”

“I wasn’t, until just now,” Kuroko says, a little breathless.

Frowning, Kagami takes a closer look, noting for the first time the light flush to his cheeks, the way the hair at his temples is starting to turn darker and curl slightly with sweat. Used as Kagami is to California in the summer, the dry desert heat settling in whenever the ocean winds still, this bit of Tokyo June is hardly sweating weather yet, but then again, Kuroko’s skin is _really_ fair, his veins shining through ever so faintly at the pulse points.  

And that's… a really weird thing to notice, Kagami thinks, so he settles for shoving that thought back into the box it popped out from and scoots over to make room for Kuroko in the shade.

“The store didn’t have pocari, unfortunately, so I just brought water,” Kuroko says, nodding his apology at Miyo while handing out the bottles from a konbini bag. “I hope that’s alright.”

“Aw, thanks, Tet-chan. Water’s the best, anyway. All that sugary stuff is murder on your complexion,” Miyo says, twisting her drink open and taking a pronounced, dainty sip. “And as for the shoot, nope. I couldn’t be there for the fittings, sadly, so Mari-chan asked another friend from school to help. Aki-chan’s super-sweet, though, and a real pro.”

Gulping down his own water, Kise nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, we’ve done one or two shoots together. I didn’t realize Mari tailored the outfits to her. Figures, though. Akiko-chan’s really short and slight, so _mori_ totally suits her. She's–”

_“WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE CAN’T MAKE IT?!”_

* * *

 

By the time they track the source of the scream back to the vans, the future of fashion is lying in ruins, unsalvageable, destroyed, atomized by a death laser of bad luck, victim of a conspiracy of the fates and the angry ghosts of people Mari has offended in a previous life.

As far as Kagami can tell from all the stuttering and flailing, the boyfriend left a while ago to pick up the other model, but something tragically avoidable happened to the elusive Akiko–

“–who on Earth gets food poisoning from breakfast, Miyo-chan? Breakfast! How is that even allowed?!”

–leaving the photoshoot to grind to a terrible, horrible, no good very bad and most definitely permanent (because _oh god what do I DOOOOO_ ) halt.

He’s starting to feel a bit dumb just standing there as the emergency ( _disaster! catastrophe! fiasco!_ ) wears on, arms hanging at his sides and unsure of where to look. His only experience at comforting people is Alex’s patented squish-and-smooch cure-all for upset little basketball pups (urgh!), and that’s just. Yeah, no. Completely inapplicable to the outside world and insane besides.

Kuroko has the comforting side covered, though, pulling tissues from a packet for Mari to blow her nose into and murmuring calming words that Kagami couldn’t think of in a million years, though they mostly get lost in the whirlwind of Mari’s flailing. The Kise siblings have bent their heads together in muttered war council, scrolling through their respective contact lists for a suitable replacement.

“Sorry, Mari-chan, I’m out,” Kise announces after a few minutes, which makes Mari stop, blink up at him, and wordlessly hold out a hand for a new tissue.

Kuroko, ever courteous, already has one ready.

Another minute later, Miyo puts her phone down, too, shaking her head. “It’s no good. Eri-chan and Chi-chan are out of the country, and Keiko-chan’s booked until next Tuesday. The only one I could still see wearing your clothes is Mimi-chan, and she's–”

“More than a head taller than Aki-chan,” Mari finishes tonelessly. “Why why _why in the name of Valentino_ did I ever think this was a good idea?! I know why I thought it was a good idea! I thought it would be such a lovely contrast since Ryouta-kun’s so tall, and it is, but– ooooh, why didn’t I stop trying to be an artist and go with you, Miyo-chan? Forget all the stupid contrasts! Who needs them anyway? I should’ve gone with you. I’m so sorry!”

“Hey now,” Miyo says, crouching down to stroke her back. “If anything, I’m the one who should be sorry. You know I wouldn’t have been able to make time for the fittings.”

“Yeah, I know,” Mari sniffles, her glasses askew, and accepts another tissue. “Farewell, fashion degree, I hardly knew thee. Should’ve just listened to my mom and stuck to being a seamstress, really…”

“I still think it’s too soon to give up, Mari-san,” Kuroko says, humming thoughtfully. “Perhaps I could ask Momoi-san… she may not be a professional, but I’m sure she could–”

Kise is shaking his head. “I already thought of Momoicchi, but, uhh. Akiko-chan is, how do I put this? Um…”

“Flat as a board?” Miyo says bluntly, leaving Kagami to choke on his own spit.

“Nnnnnnot what I was going to say, Sis, but yeah.”

Kagami is pretty sure he shouldn’t even be thinking of asking the Coach, especially not after _this_ revelation, because that way murder lies.

Mari is shaking her head, uncurling slightly from her ball of misery. “No no no. Thank you so much for trying, everyone, but I can’t just ask the next pretty girl off the street, either. That's… mori doesn’t work that way, you know. Mori is… mori isn’t just fashion. Mori is… is… a vision. A philosophy. It’s light and air and nature, all clean lines and soft fabrics and…” She waves her hands. “And an ideal mori girl is, too. All… modest and natural and unassuming. Pure. Delicate. _Diaphanous_!”

Busy as he is trying to figure out what the hell “diaphanous” means, Kagami almost misses the change in the atmosphere. It’s subtle, almost too subtle, just Kise’s ears pricking up, his features slowly settling into an expression Kagami only knows from the court, a fox-like intensity that means anything might happen. Anything at all.

Kise nudges his sister, murmuring something too low for Kagami to hear, and then she nudges Mari, who stops talking immediately.

Stops.

Stares.

And just keeps staring, at a point Kagami really should have been expecting, because Kise is crazy and knows way too many crazy people.

Kuroko blinks back.

“…Yes?”

* * *

Kagami can catch Kuroko’s split-second tornado-force passes, but even his reflexes can’t keep up with the blur of mousy desperation that launches herself at his partner. In the blink of an eye, Mari has gone from curled up in the back of her van to clutching Kuroko’s hands with a grip that is more immobilizing than pleading, barreling through her insane request like air is an optional commodity.

“–and it would suit you so well, I’m not even kidding, maybe a little tight ‘round the shoulders but who cares, right? Gosh, the colors would work so well with your eyes and your skin and your everything, why didn’t I see it before–!” She whips round. “Ryouta-kun, you’re a genius! A life-saver! The best thing to ever happen to me!”

Kise, the bastard, has the nerve to _preen_.

Mari whips back around, coming almost nose to nose with Kuroko. “Well, no, that would be you!”

“Um, Mari-san–”

“There’s no one else I could ask! The deadline’s Monday! Oh please say yes oh please oh please! You’ll have my eternal gratitude! My firstborn child! My _soul_!”

“Um, Mari-san, I don't–”

“I promise it won’t be anything weird! I mean, it’ll just be more posing like Ryouta-kun was doing this morning, maybe we’ll put you up in a tree or in a fountain or something–”

“Mari-san–”

“–and you won’t have to worry about the photos getting any circulation, really, I just need to hand them in to get graded and then I’ll get them right back–”

“Mari-san, please–”

“–plus it’s all very tasteful, understated, mori isn’t about showing skin or anything like that–”

“OI!” Kagami roars, because _what the actual fuck_ , and that, at last, startles Mari into silence.

Kuroko coughs softly. “Thank you, Kagami-kun.”

Still glaring at the chatty girl, Kagami nods, and makes a mental note to start looking into foldable megaphones or something because Kuroko’s vocal chords clearly aren’t built to argue against all the human freight trains in his life. No wonder his primary technique for making himself known involves giving people a bruised spleen.

“Mari-san, although it shows your dedication, I think you will be needing your soul in your line of work, and… I don’t believe children, first-born or otherwise, constitute a legal payment method. That said, I can’t claim that garnering attention is one of my skills, but…”

Drawing a breath, Kuroko straightens, and oh man, Kagami knows _that_ look about as well as he knows his own face in the mirror, because that’s the look of one Kuroko Tetsuya, hell-bent on seeing a game through with nothing but sheer, bull-headed determination.

As for why it’s making an appearance here and now, well, Kagami supposes Kuroko is simply better at hiding _his_ crazy.

“…but I will give it my all.”

* * *

Sooner or later, Kagami decides, he’ll have to come to terms with the fact that Kuroko will probably never cease to amaze him.

Some time, but not today, even though none of this is a surprise, not _really_ – after all, Kuroko is the kind of guy who, even concussed, is trying to support his team, stands up to bullies twice his size, does relationship counseling for his  _rivals_ , and even takes up the frankly monumental task of helping fill the truck-sized hole in Kagami’s knowledge of kanji like it’s just another thing he does. He’ll probably start rescuing abandoned animals next.

Most people, never mind most guys, would have run for the hills at the mere idea of what his partner has just so easily agreed to.

And that doesn’t even factor in the two Kises flitting around him like a pair of insane butterflies. Armed with sharp things. At least, the sharp things seem to be entirely in Miyo’s hands, who has already demonstrated her expertise at not poking her brother’s eyeballs out, so that’s a minor relief. Kise himself is sorting through the make-up kit with a speed that rivals his dribbling on the court, rambling about contrasts and high tones and low notes between “nope” and “too strong” and “nah, so last season!”

And that’s before he flits back to the make-up chair with his selection, pinching Kuroko’s chin between thumb and forefinger to turn his face this way and that, brushing back his hair, peering critically at things he could see just as easily from five feet away, and just generally acting like a golden retriever (urgh, there’s _that_ mental image again) with Kuroko as his favorite toy.

The spotlight in his hands gives a groan of protest, and Kagami starts at the sight of his own knuckles turning white around the pole.

Deep breath. Calm thoughts. Because he has to be the moral support for now, however clumsy.

It’s just… way too similar to all those times on the court when players like that Papa guy had to act like dickheads just because Kuroko is short and slight (and, okay, let’s face it, doesn’t look like he belongs in a basketball match, but there’s that and then there’s picking him up and moving him around like a fucking _doll_ ). And alright, maybe he wasn’t all that respectful of Kuroko’s personal space at first, either, but… man, at least he’s trying now, right? Right.

“Kise-kun, whatever you are looking for, I don’t think you will find it up my nose.”

And maybe Kagami is getting mad for nothing, because if there’s one thing Kuroko’s always been good at, it’s making his disagreement known.

Tilting Kuroko’s head the other way, Kise chuckles. “It’s not up your nose, Kurokocchi, _at_ your nose. You've– you’ve actually got these tiny freckles at the tip here–” A poke. “And here–” Another poke. “And it’s _adorable_! I didn’t know you could do that!”

Kuroko merely blinks in response, like the assessment is too dumb for words (it is), his eyes uncrossing when Kise finally pulls back.

“Aw man, so cute! I can’t!” Kise all but squeals, leaping backwards when Kuroko’s foot attempts to catch him in the shin. Kagami would’ve chosen to kick him when he was close enough to count Kuroko’s individual eyelashes, but Kuroko seems willing to tolerate that as long as nobody’s calling him words reserved for small children, and maybe teenage girls.

“It’s too bad, though, we’ll have to do something about that. I was hoping we could skip it because Mari’s right, your skin’s super-pretty. No, no, I’m serious, I know some people who’d kill for that complexion, Kurokocchi– buuut anyway, now we only need to find a concealer pale enough…”

'We,’ like this is a team effort.

Kagami sets the last reflector down, rolling his eyes. “What’s the point if he can’t even look how he actually looks?”

“Ahh, Kagamicchi, trust the professionals at least a little,” Kise says, wagging a finger at him, while his other hand is busy digging through the make-up case by what seems to be muscle memory. “The HD camera is the greatest enemy of natural beauty, you know. Sees everything, knows everything, prints everything. Sad to say.”

“That’s pretty dumb,” Kagami says, carefully picking his way through the mess of struts and cables. If there’s any kind of sense in hiring pretty people when they can’t ever be pretty enough for the job, anyway, he can’t see it.

“It’s how it is,” Kise says, shrugging. “Hey Sis, do you have anything lighter than ivory rose in here?”

And yeah, that’s a real color.

Miyo, who is picking out a set of nearly identical combs and brushes according to criteria only she knows, hums distractedly. “Try the other bag in my trunk, I’ve got some shade of vanilla in there. That should do the trick.”

“Ohh, right! Keys, please?” Kise catches the key ring on his index finger without even looking and flounces away, leaving a blessed silence.  

Vanilla. Kuroko’s skin has the same color as _vanilla_. Kagami can’t decide whether he wants to unhear that, or file it away as a counter for all those times Kuroko teases him about being a big, loud American.

“Kagami-kun, please don’t.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t laugh,” Kuroko says, tilting his head over the backrest to look up at him, the residue of some kind of cream shimmering on his chin and in the spot between his eyebrows. “I’m terribly nervous as it is.”

Spoken as deadpan as ever, but he’s rubbing his wrists in a familiar gesture, fingers trying to tug up a sweatband that, right now, isn’t there.

“I-I’m not,” Kagami says, tripping over the words because this isn’t a situation in which he can grin and prop up his partner with some variation of “we’re gonna win this.” This is Kuroko helping out an obnoxious friend and a bunch of near strangers by doing something far out of his comfort zone. And all Kagami’s got for the occasion are a bunch of dumbass phrases from that one play his class put on in middle school, about how bows and ruffles can totes be manly, and that’s so far from being the problem.

Kuroko likes watching people, but he doesn’t like _being_ watched, and though he might have agreed to it, he’s going to be spending the next several hours as the center of everyone’s attention, each movement captured on film for all to see.

Yeah, Kagami totally sucks at this moral support thing.

He scratches his neck, avoiding that too-earnest gaze. “Okay, maybe I was just now, a little bit. I mean, c'mon, vanilla. You’ve got to admit that’s pretty funny. But I won’t, after this.” He huffs, trying to ignore the odd flipflop his stomach always does when the conversation moves away from their usual banter and sparring. “Well. I’ll totally laugh if you trip and land your butt in the water or something. That’s fair game. But not about other stuff.”

Thing number one he’ll never get used to, on this day or any other, is when Kuroko remembers he has the facial muscles to give an actual smile. Not the stupid “secretly making fun of you” thing he does with just his eyes, or even those moments when the rush of victory overwhelms him (though that’s a sight to see), but those small, soft quirks like Kagami has just said the most important thing in the universe instead of the first dumbshit thing that stumbles out of his inept mouth.

“Thank you, Kagami-kun.”

Yeah. Damn. Maybe he can blame the heat in his cheeks on sunstroke.

* * *

Out of all the things Kagami was dreading the Unholy Fashion Trinity to accomplish, this wasn’t on the list.

What little experience he has with cross-dressing, it always seemed to involve making guys look like girls, more or less successfully. The costuming in that middle school play was about little more than wigs and copious amounts of garish lipstick that fooled precisely nobody (which, years later, Kagami suspects was kind of the point). And there was that one late-night adventure in downtown L.A. that ended with a nice lady rescuing him and Tatsuya out of a construction chute (Tatsuya, nine and sage-voiced, later explained that she must’ve actually been a dude, because he managed to notice her Adam’s apple somewhere in his panicked screeching). Quietly but firmly, Kagami decides that the one Halloween where Alex picked up the wrong costumes from the store and he and Tatsuya had to go around as witches instead of wizards _does not count_ as part of the experience.

At any rate, Kuroko doesn’t look like a girl.

Or even like a guy in a dress.

Kuroko just looks like he decided on a wardrobe change, and Kagami can’t for the life of him call it a bad choice.

It’s just cut-off jeans and a t-shirt with some kind of poncho thing thrown over it, and if not for the lacy trimmings of the shirt collar and waist, or the stitched flower pattern of the poncho, it couldn’t even be called particularly feminine. It looks kind of like someone tried to make a garment to imitate air, the thin fabrics flowing in a fit that seems loose and comfortable over anything else, almost like it’s trying to avoid the typical trappings of girls’ fashion.

Not that Kagami knows much about that, either, but some of the outfits he passes by in the trendy mall stores just look like a pain to put on, and he can’t fathom why girls bother.

Miyo is still busy with Kuroko’s hair, fluffing individual strands into a style slightly less unintentional than his usual bedhead. Mari, a head below her, is tugging the bows on the poncho thing into shape like she’s performing brain surgery there, if brain surgery were commonly narrated by a squeaky-voiced college girl.

“Almost there. Alllllmost there. Oh, no, that’s too much, hang on,” she says, like Kuroko hasn’t been standing perfectly still all this time, looking about as bewildered by it all as Kagami feels. “Ohh, got it! That’s it! Oh, Kurokocchi-kun, you turned out amazing!”

 _Turned out_ , my ass, Kagami thinks, and has to clamp down on his stomach doing another gymnastics routine for no reason at all.

“Perfect!” Miyo announces from above, stepping back with hands on her hips to admire her handiwork.

“Hold everything!” Kise emerges from the back of the second van, a shoebox under one arm and a pair of sandals in the other, their lacy cuffs ruffling delicately when he waves them around. “You’re still size 24, right, Kurokocchi? In which case, these are for you!”

“…you know his freaking shoe size?” Kagami blurts over Mari’s “kyaaaah” (and seriously, who says “kyaaaah”). He isn’t sure why he’s surprised, but it’s weird as hell all the same.

Kise grins evilly. “I know yours, too.”

“Oi!”

“A side effect of being friends with Momoi-san,” Kuroko says. “I hope.”

“That… doesn’t make me feel better,” Kagami says, watching him toe off his sneakers to step into the sandals Kise has presented with a flourish, like something out of a freaking Disney movie. Maybe it’s all that time seeing Kuroko on the court in his Asics, but holy shit his feet are small.

And something tells him to shuffle that thought into another quiet, dark little box before Kuroko finds out and socks him for it.

Straps are adjusted, clasps are snapped shut, and then Kise steps back with an expression that suggests the only reason Kuroko isn’t being hugged to death right about now is to preserve the integrity of the outfit.

“Kurokocchi’s so cute, isn’t he, Kagamicchi?” And even Kagami can tell when the bastard is only trying to embarrass them, so he just glares. “Right, right?”

“Super-cute!” Mari echoes, in complete earnestness. “Oh, this is gonna be so awesome! Maybe we should start at the bridge. Or maybe the dogwood trees?”

“Ahhh, I don’t care, I can’t take it anymore!” Kise proclaims, whipping out his phone. “Smile, Kurokocchi?”

Kuroko sends him a look that wouldn’t melt butter. “Kagami-kun.”

Nodding grimly, Kagami reaches over, plucks the phone out of Kise’s grasp and shoves it into the depths of his cargo pants before Kise can share his unhealthy obsession with the entirety of Twitter.

Kise keeps going “Kagamicchi, you meanie!” ( _really_ ) and “You’re lucky I like you!” for half an hour afterwards, but wisely decides not to fight him for it.

* * *

 

As much as being a male model is hard work, modeling girls’ clothing is nothing short of artfully choreographed torture.

The morning shoot went by really quickly, just Kise draping himself over or against whatever object he was asked to, followed by approximately five hundred shots of barely discernible differences, and then again at a location only a few meters away, lather, rinse, repeat.

Kuroko is asked recline on a low-hanging branch and nearly topples over backwards, balance on a bridge rail, and pet a frog that Mari produces from god-knows-where (and which Kuroko promptly releases because “that would be cruel, Mari-san”, to more squealing and rapid-fire clickclickclicks). He even has to work on a daisy chain (which he does with a steady hand that Kagami envies, because the one time he tried to make one for Alex way back when, it ended in all the daisies getting shredded to bits).

And, of course, there’s the endless parade of outfits: leggings with a draped, layered blouse that reaches down to his knees, ruffly halter tops, shorts and some kind of mini-cape, loose knit jackets with sleeves wide enough to get lost in, silk scarves, hemp bracelets and wooden buttons and butterfly clips. All in soft, muted colors – blues and browns and greens – that shouldn’t work as well as they do.

Despite the airy designs, mid-afternoon has Kuroko practically wilting in the sun, hair drooping out of its feathery arrangement, a flush of pink in his cheeks that Mari seems to find charming and Kagami just finds alarming, because the last time Kuroko turned that color, he passed out during practice.

Which is why they’ve all relocated to one of the fountains for a break, the Fashion Trinity’s haggling floating through the still air. Kagami won’t even pretend to know what they’re going on about (something about chiffon versus organza, which sound like flavors of ice cream), so he starts rolling up his pants and joins Kuroko at the water’s edge.

“You holding up okay?”

The effect is immediate, Kuroko straightening out of his heat slump, brows furrowing in determination.

“I won’t give up.”

“Against all common sense,” Kagami grins, plopping down and dipping his feet in the water. It wasn’t what he meant, not exactly, but then again, he suspects Kuroko knows that, too, knows the question was an offer to steal a car and make a run for it, only half-jokingly.

“That seems to be a prerequisite for this kind of undertaking,” Kuroko agrees with his eyes closed, leaning back on his hands and turning his face to search out the nonexistent breeze. This close, Kagami can get a good look at what Miyo has done to his face, a bluish tint to the mascara, some barely-there blue-white eyeshadow, a sheen of gloss on his naturally pink lips.

It’s kind of funny how the make-up doesn’t look much like make-up at all – funny, and kind of stupid, because what’s the point of that? – but anything else, Kagami decides, wouldn’t suit Kuroko much. Which is probably a weird thing to think, even though Kuroko’s currently in something that’s stuck half-way between shirt and dress, lots of pale, blue-beige layers tapering out until only one sheer strip of fabric remains, showing the khaki shorts beneath. It’s meant to imitate some kind of forest spring or whatever, Kagami seriously was busier hauling the tech around and keeping Kise from borrowing somebody else’s phone.

“Hm?” Kuroko asks, eyes still closed, and Kagami tries to pretend he hasn’t been staring.

“Nothing. Just wondering if you’re gonna take off your shoes or not. Water’s nice. It might help you cool down.”

“I tried, but I couldn’t figure out how to untie the knots.” He wriggles his feet, now clad in a pair of sandals that look even more arcane than the first, some kind of cord twisting upwards to mid-calf and looping around itself in a series of tangles that Kagami supposes are meant to be artful, but look like they need an instruction manual to undo.

“It’s just as well. I wouldn’t want to do something irreversible to Mari-san’s work,” Kuroko says, and from the way he keeps watching the gurgling waterworks, that’s such an obvious lie.

“Get it dirty before you overheat, idiot,” Kagami says, which comes out less flippant than he wants it to. “’S not like the Fashion Brigade over there is paying attention.”

“It’s fine. Kagami-kun?” Kuroko’s eyes slide back open, and with the foreign accent of the mascara around them, they really look very blue. “If I may, though, I’d have a request?”

“Uh. Sure.”

“Well, it’s just… all the previous talk of vanilla…”

Kagami snorts, because man, the jokes are practically writing themselves here. “You’re not seriously asking me to run over to the next Majiba, are you?”

“Kagami-kun must be a mind-reader,” Kuroko says, gazing up at  him hopefully. “I saw one near the east entrance a while ago.”

“'Tch.” Under normal circumstances, he’d tell Kuroko to get his own damn milkshake, but playing dress-up doll for three Kises (because, let’s face it, the third is one in all but name) is anything but. “Next thing, you’ll be asking for Argentinian pears with cottage cheese or something.”

“That doesn’t sound refreshing at all,” Kuroko says, watching him stomp his feet dry in the grass and pull his shoes back on. “Oh, and, Kagami-kun? It would be very good of you to hurry. Break is almost over.”

As soon as Kuroko’s back in street clothes, Kagami decides, he’ll dunk him in the ornamental fountain.

* * *

 

He does not, in fact, dunk Kuroko in the ornamental fountain.

Kagami likes to think that this is because the water’s still pretty cold, and he really doesn’t want to be the one to explain to the Coach and Captain why Kuroko is laid out flat with a cold come Monday. It definitely doesn’t have anything to do with Kuroko doing that funny glowy thing with his face, where he’s not smiling but his entire expression is alight with one of those moods Kagami isn’t sure how to identify, simply because nobody can be that happy about a freaking drink from a fast-food chain.

So he settles for kicking a pebble back and forth between his feet and pointedly not looking at Kuroko or Kuroko’s eyes (still stupidly blue, which should totally be a real color) or the tiny smudge of gloss at the corner of his lips (which someone should probably wipe off) or the way he still looks like he’s either going to melt or float away (to be blamed on all of Mari’s babbling about woodland spirits) in hopes of making the tap-dancing chorus line in his stomach stop.

His left pocket vibrates, yanking him out of his thoughts.

He’s pretty sure he shoved Kise’s phone in the zipper pocket close to his knee because he doesn’t trust Kise not to have copied some pickpocketing techniques from who-knows-where, and that place is a lot harder to reach. Sure enough, it’s his own phone, though he can’t for the life of him imagine who’d be texting him now – well, besides the Coach, who seems to be taking the weekend to recharge her sadistic imagination and then mail them new training plans before anything like relaxation can settle in.

The number is unfamiliar, but the _~~~~OMGGG Kagamicchi~~~_ in the subject line is anything but.

Kagami jerks upright, zeroing in on Kise, who is leaning against his sister’s shoulder a few feet away and saluting him with a borrowed smartphone.

Figures.

Scowling, Kagami looks back down.

_So hopeless! ( ≧Д≦)  
If you won’t even look at your date, they might start thinking you don’t find them cute~~!_

Attached is a snapshot taken a scant few seconds before, Kuroko sipping his milkshake while Kagami is so obviously ignoring him it’s actually kind of embarrassing, but––

 _WTF Kise?!_  is perhaps not the best comeback he could have thought of, but it’s the fastest to type.

_(⌒▽⌒) Just some friendly advice!  (⌒▽⌒）_

There probably is a kaomoji for shoving someone upside down through a basketball hoop, and Kagami sorely regrets not looking it up.

_Who needs advice, idiot? And Kuroko isn’t!_

_Isn’t what? (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧_

_Piss off_ , Kagami types in English because that’s easier than figuring out the correct variant of “you” to call someone a shithead.

His phone buzzes with another reply – _(ÒДÓ) OMG ruuuude!_ – but he ignores it in favor of getting his blood flow under control before–

“Kagami-kun, that color doesn’t look healthy.”

–before that happens. Gritting his teeth, Kagami turns to meet Kuroko’s faux-concerned (definitely faux-concerned) gaze. “Yeah, well, Kise.”

Apparently that’s enough of an explanation, because Kuroko nods in understanding. “Kise-kun does tend to have that effect on other people’s blood pressure, yes.”  

“Everyone’s so rude today!” Kise declares, artfully plunking himself down next to Kuroko (which shouldn’t even be a thing) and giving them the wounded deer stare. “Just for that, I’m gonna share all your dirty secrets.”

“But Kise-kun, you don’t know my dirty secrets,” Kuroko says with enough confidence to give both Kise and Kagami a pause.

“…Ah, but I know other things,” Kise says eventually, eyeing Kagami with that fox-like glint again.  

“Don’t you dare!”

“I know Kagamicchi doesn’t think you’re cute, can you believe that?!”

Kuroko blinks.

Kagami decides that force-feeding Kise a basketball is too noble a death.

“…I’m not sure what brought on this observation,” Kuroko says, taking a measured sip of his drink, “but I’m glad Kagami-kun thinks so. After all, I am not cute.”

Kise just laughs, perfectly unconcerned for the integrity of his ribcage. “Don’t fight it, Kurokocchi! You so are! Just look at you––”

“Ryou-chan,” Miyo’s sing-song voice comes floating from the other side of the set, “Mari says to stop harassing the-best-thing-that-ever-happened-to-her, or she’ll do to you what she did to that guy at the fabric sale.”

Kagami isn’t sure how a person can get across the tonal equivalent of a menacing heartmark in their speech, but yep, there it is. He’s also not sure that promising the wrath of a frazzled fashionista is much of a threat, especially since Mari barely even comes up to _Kuroko_ ’s shoulder. He looks over at Kise, who shrugs.

“…What did she do to the guy at the fabric sale?”

“I don’t know, but it had something to do with blue satin at fifty percent off, and I’ve never seen a grown man run so fast,” Miyo says, making her way over. “I’m with her, by the way. You could stand to be a little more sensitive towards Tet-chan.”

Which would work a lot better, really, if she didn’t keep calling him “Tet-chan.”

“What, what did I do?” Kise whines, as if he wasn’t on a mission to embarrass both of them to combustion until a moment ago. Well, Kagami, anyway. Apparently, the only thing Kuroko will get shy about are cameras.

“Guys usually don’t appreciate being told they’re cute. Especially not while dressed as a girl.” Miyo’s _I’m so sorry about my idiot brother_ routine holds up for a grand total of five seconds before she adds, “Even if it _is_ true.”

“It’s a compliment, Kurokocchi knows that!” Kise says, completely oblivious to the _oh do I, now_ look Kuroko is sending his way. “And anyway, what’s wrong with wearing girl’s clothes? I’ve done it a bunch of times, myself.”

“Say what,” Kagami blurts, trying very hard not to imagine it because Kise isn’t exactly built for the job and he doesn’t want to spend every future match against Kaijou imagining their ace in a sundae dress.

Rolling her eyes at her brother, Miyo turns to Kagami. “Mom designs children’s clothes, and sometimes she’d put them on us to see how they looked. And when Ayu-nee and I got too big to do the girl’s collections, Ryou-chan would take over for us.” She grins. “You know, way back in the mists of time when Ryou-chan was teeny tiny and actually pretty adorable. I know, can you believe it, right?”

“Hey! What is this, international harp-on-Ryouta day?” Kise is one octave shy of squawking, puffing his cheeks up like a preschooler. “And I’m still plenty cute, thank you very much!”

“That’s something a narcissist would say,” Kuroko muses to no one in particular, before gazing up at Kise with that dreadfully inquisitive stare of his. “Are you a narcissist, Kise-kun?”

“I– wha– Not true! I am _not_!” Kise splutters, looking at each of them in turn as if hoping for a denial, and deflating when no one moves to defend him. Kagami might almost feel bad for the guy if he weren’t so sure that there’s no force in the world that would make Kise lose any of his boundless self-confidence. “Fine, I see how it is. Kurokocchi, you’re so not cute right now.”

“I’m so glad we are in agreement, then,” Kuroko says mildly, and goes back to sipping his milkshake.

* * *

Remarkably, they make it through the rest of the shoot without anyone dying of heat (Kuroko) or mortification (Kagami).

That’s partly because Mari, even with her terminal perfectionism, decided to drastically reduce the number of poses, and partly because Kise is far less of a strain on everyone’s blood pressure when his relentless energy is focused on an object rather than a person. Like a basketball. Or, in this case, a camera.

In the privacy of his own mind, Kagami admits that he expected the pair photos to involve a lot more bruised shins, given Kise’s inborn disregard for personal space and Kuroko’s (completely understandable) aversion to being treated like a human teddy bear, but instead, he’s reminded yet again that this is what Kise does for a living. It’s almost a little discomfiting how easy it is to forget that, how complete the transformation from loud-mouthed attention hog to smooth, graceful professional truly is, like Kise can switch whole chunks of his personality on and off with barely any effort at all.

It’s really no wonder that Kuroko, calm and quiet as still water, tends to disappear next to the larger-than-life personalities that seem to be part of a Miracle’s job description. That still doesn’t make it okay to leave him out of interviews and team photographs (he looked, so sue him), but, well, Kagami’s witnessing first-hand how easy it is to lose track of his partner even with the viewfinder trained on him.

“Um, Mari-chan, I think you cut off Kurokocchi in this shot.”

“Again?! How’s that even possible?”

“I apologize, Mari-san. I don’t think I’m very effective next to Kise-kun.” It’s kind of wrong to hear him talk about it so matter-of-factly, like there’s nothing even slightly unfair about the fact that he’s gone as good as invisible just because another person is standing next to him. Granted, Kuroko takes shameless advantage of it whenever he wants to catch up on sleep during first period or is running late for practice, and Kagami will never believe that all the times he scares the living daylights out of people by popping up out of freaking nowhere are _accidents_ , but still. It’s the principle of the thing.

“Oh no no no, you’re doing great, Kurokocchi-kun. We just need to figure out how to make you stand out more.”

 _Good luck with that_ , Kagami thinks. He tried everything short of tying a bell around Kuroko’s neck before he learned that Kuroko can’t be looked for, he can only be found. Bizarre as that sounds. It’s a lot easier to stop trying to track him by sight and instead focus on other stuff, like the rhythm of his steps on the court (a muted, rapid-fire tap-squeak-tap, one-and-a-half steps for every one Kagami takes), or the telltale smell of artificial vanilla that tends to follow him around after a stopover at Majiba, or the explosive little gulps of breath (twice as fast as everyone else’s, when he’s pushing to keep up with the rest of the team). All of which took weeks to learn, and he’s not about to let a rival player in on those discoveries.

Not to mention they sound a bit creepy when laid out like this, so double the reasons to keep his mouth shut.

“Well, maybe if we play with the foreground-background arrangement a little… or I could change into something less busy,” Kise is saying, motioning to his graffiti shirt and aggressively checkered pants.

“I won’t lose to a shirt, Kise-kun.” Kuroko is puffing himself up to his full height, and even with the extra half-inch of his current feathery hairstyle, that’s not very impressive at all. Even without the addition of Kise clutching his stomach and staggering in a fit of helpless giggles.

“…You know, that’s the liveliest I’ve seen him in a while.”

Miyo’s oddly subdued tone startles him more than her appearance at his side. The elder Kise isn’t looking at him, instead following her brother’s antics a few feet away, her expression falling short of dry amusement and settling into something softer, a little similar to the last time he talked to Alex before leaving the States for Japan, when she sighed and patted him on the shoulder and said, “What am I going to do with you boys?”

She laughs a little, taking his awkward silence for doubt. “Yeah, I know, how can I tell, right? If you hang around him for a while, you’ll notice.”

“Um,” is all Kagami says, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets to keep himself from fidgeting because the way she says it, it’s almost like she’s asking him to be her brother’s _friend_ , and that’s just so weird on so many levels. After all, she’s only just met him, and there’s no way Kise needs any help expanding his social circle, and what the hell, he’s still not sure what continued Kise-exposure might do to his mental health.

“Ah, sorry. Don’t mind me, I’m just rambling,” Miyo says, flipping back her hair as if to dismiss the mood. “It’s just that Ryou-chan hasn’t been able to shut up about that practice match you guys had, and… yeah. It’s been a long time since he’s been that fired up about meeting anyone, or doing anything, so… I guess what I mean is, thanks.”

Kagami scuffs his feet, kicking up a few loose blades of grass, embarrassed by the sudden heart-to-heart and her assumption that he’s had anything to do with it when really, all he was thinking about was beating a strong opponent, while Kuroko is the connector, the minor cosmic force affecting change wherever he goes. “I think you’re thanking the wrong guy.”

“Oh, that’s funny,” Miyo says, turning to go, and clearly, that sly smile is a family trait, too. “Because I think I’ve got it half right.”

* * *

When the shoot is finally ready to wrap up, the sun is already disappearing behind the tree line, casting long shadows through the park.

Mari and Kise’s sister take charge of putting the collection back into whatever the fashion equivalent of mint condition is, sorting accessories and folding up fabrics. The boyfriend shows up again from wherever he disappeared to (“Afternoon shift, sorry, guys!”) to help with taking down and re-boxing all the lights and screens, and bickering with Mari about what qualifies as ‘properly packaged’. Even with the extra help, though, it’s mostly dark by the time all the stuff has been loaded back into the vans, the streetlights drawing small clouds of insects.

Toweling off the sweat to stave off the evening chill, Kagami tries to figure out where Kuroko has disappeared to. Oddly enough, it’s easier to keep track of his shadow once it gets dark, partly because a childhood spent adventuring through the backstreets of L.A. at night teaches a few valuable skills, and partly because Kuroko just seems to fare better in a softer light, his presence growing steadier and more pronounced (a good thing, too, or Kagami would have died a thousand deaths every time they practiced until it was lights off at the street court).

This time, though, he only has to follow the sound of Kise’s voice.

“–ahh, it was kind of fun, though, wasn’t it? It’s weird how you get more presence in pictures, like in those Paranormal Activity videos–”

“Rude, Kise-kun.”

Kuroko is sitting on a loading ramp, comparing camera parts against a checklist and putting them in the bulky transport bags by the light of the car’s interior. He’s back in his street clothes, as close to plain and ordinary as he ever comes (which, all things considered, isn’t very), feet drawing aimless circles in the gravel path as he works, like he’s glad to be able to move freely again. Not that Kagami can blame him; it’s a relief to see the flood of frills and ruffles gone, making him look more earthbound and a lot less ethereal. Which is a word Mari’s been using way too much (like anyone actually says “ethereal”), and he’s going to be blaming all the weird-ass comparisons between Kuroko and air and light on her and not on his own brain, which definitely hasn’t been coming up with that stuff for a while now, and without any extra help.

“–but instead, you’re like a good spirit or something.” Kise has settled cross-legged on the floor of the van, working on flattening Kuroko’s hair with one of those baby brushes with the really soft bristles. With all the clips and ribbons gone, the blue bird’s nest is frizzing again, like it’s belatedly trying to express what it thinks of all the unnecessary decorations. “Well sort of. Getting Kagamicchi to steal my phone was super-mean. All those missed opportunities! So I guess that puts you closer to, hm, mildly evil?”

“Again, rude, Kise-kun.”

It’s that note in Kuroko’s voice that stops Kagami from making his way over, an undercurrent of relaxation now that Kise isn’t bulldozing him with forced closeness. This way, they could almost pass for normal friends hanging out together, all of Kise’s clucking and fussing over Kuroko’s hair aside. Whatever actually happened that sent them off to different schools, it seems to be mending, and Kagami isn’t sure he should be present to see–

“Oh, Kagami-kun.”

“Kagamicchi!”

Or maybe he’s being dumb, an opinion he can see reflected plain as day in Kuroko’s keen-eyed gaze, because Kuroko knows. Somehow, Kuroko always knows.

“Perfect timing!” Kise crows, going from somewhat calm and close to normal to one thousand megawatts of Miracle-powered enthusiasm in less than a second. “Mari-chan said she’s going to treat us to dinner at an ishiyaki place two streets down, as thanks for today. I haven’t been there yet, but she says it’s delicious, and Mari-chan’s a picky eater. I kiiiind of already said we’d be coming, so I hope that’s okay!”

“That is something to ask before rather than after the fact, Kise-kun,” Kuroko points out with the air of someone who isn’t saying this for the first time, and knows it won’t be the last. “But… I am feeling slightly hungry. Kagami-kun?”

Right on cue, his stomach seems to remember he didn’t have anything other than a store-bought lunch box all day, and lets out an embarrassingly loud growl. Kise does a poor job of hiding his snicker-snort, and Kuroko is definitely giving him the _well, that was no surprise whatsoever_ look.

“Oh shut it, I was the one hauling stuff around all day, y'know.” Even if it weren’t his policy to never turn down free food, he’s already survived today in the company of _two_ Kises and one neurotic fashion designer. Two more hours or so won’t hurt.

“Awesome!” Kise claps his hands. “And just so you know, this isn’t me weaseling out of saying 'thank you’ properly, either. You two really saved my butt today, and I owe you half my soul for that.”

“It’s generally not a good idea to make so many quick promises,” Kuroko hums. “It’s also a good thing I’m not in the habit of dealing in souls.”

“Wha–?”

“And I hope neither is Kagami-kun, because I’m afraid any present IOUs on Kise-kun’s soul would be null and void.”

Kagami blinks.

“Kise-kun already signed over his soul to me in second year if I helped him pass classical Japanese. Which, I seem to recall, he did.”

“Wha– you _kept_ that?” Kise asks, not sure whether to be happy or disturbed.

“Well, throwing away a soul seems like a good way to get cursed,” Kuroko says with a shrug, like it’s not even slightly odd. “It’s probably stuck somewhere under my old kanji drill books.”

“Boo, so cruel, Kurokocchi! Just for that, you’re getting bumped up to moderately evil!”

“I can live with that,” Kuroko says, looking up at Kagami with equal parts silent laughter and complete sincerity. “Provided Kagami-kun can.”

And Kagami has no idea what the hell that’s supposed to mean – only knows it means something beyond what they’re talking about, the way it always does when Kuroko is looking directly at him, and maybe some of the make-up didn’t get wiped off properly or something, because holy shit, his eyes are still really blue.

Kagami shoves his hands back into his pockets, ignores the redness in his cheeks, and, for once, doesn’t look away.

“Like you need to ask.”

 

 

 

-Fin-

**Author's Note:**

> I said I wouldn't write fic for this fandom, and then I went and did. XD Ah well. C&C is most welcome, of course. 
> 
> And some notes on the fashion portions:  
> \- Ivory rose and vanilla are actual concealer colors, of course. It’s kind of hard for me to pin down Kuroko’s skin tone, since it seems to differ slightly from ep to ep, but in many shots, he looks _really_ light. Thus, vanilla it was.  
>  \- Shoe sizes in Japan are measured in centimeters.  
> \- _Mori kei_ (lit. “forest style”) is a fashion trend in Japan among young women [that wants to evoke nature and the beauty of the forest](http://www.japanesestreets.com/reports/1078/62-rules-for-living-in-a-forest). It uses natural materials, understated colors (mostly greens, a bit of blue, beige and earth tones), and weaves or patterns that depict plants or animals. The cuts are both loose and flowing and multi-layered, and often on the practical side. _Mori gyaru_ (“mori girls”) also use these guidelines for their hair and make-up to foster a natural, understated, modest appearance.  
> \- And because that’s what everyone’s probably waiting for, here are the inspirations for Kuroko’s outfits (described poorly by Kagami, admittedly, who has no clue about fashion):
> 
> [Jeans shorts & lace poncho blouse with sandals](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/562457440938280711/)  
> [Loose shirt with knee-length pants and a headband](http://item.rakuten.co.jp/favorite-one/4152)  
> [Wide blouse/dress with lace leggings, boots and a cute hat (scroll down)](http://item.rakuten.co.jp/favorite-one/4152)  
> [Loose hoodie over a long-sleeved dress, and short boots](http://27.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m27sn5Y0Xt1r7pnm5o1_500.jpg)  
> [And some more general inspiration here](http://theroseandchestnut.com/2015/02/02/mori-kei-forest-girl-style/).


End file.
